No One's Home

Mon, 11/24/2014 - 14:32 -- stkf

The doorbell rings; you press your

face against the window, trying to

peer through the tinted glass, but

all you see is your reflection,

printed picture perfect straight

out of a magazine.

 

There’s no one home, you realize,

until the door creaks open silently and

a small hand waves a friendly hello,

trying to stop its trembling by grasping

onto the front of your shirt and

pulling you inside.

 

It guides you, steering you away from

what you assume is furniture; coffee tables,

couches, clutter scattered on the floor, cabinets

and lamps that appear to be broken, for why else

would there be no light? You dwell as the

hand seats you at a kitchen table,

firm and polite.

 

Cautiously, you whisper hello and the

echo whispers it back. There’s a sharp split

in the wall resembling a smile, jagged and pulled

tight at the edges. You laugh, you drink, you spill

secrets to the air that listens and replies

when needed. 

 

It isn’t until the air grows cold, reaches for your

beating heart and clenches it tightly, trying to slip

inside. The gap in the wall widens, opens up,

weighing down heavy on your soul, light

creeping towards the surface,

desperate and dim; you know it’s

time to go.

 

The hand returns, more forcefully now,

pounding your flesh as you stumble and

trip over what remains. You reach the door

and it swallows you whole, tumbling and falling

until you’re back at start, wondering why you even

stopped in the first place.

 

A face presses against the window, counting

your footsteps fading into the night until finally,

you are gone. Broken lamps come to life; light fills

the room and illuminates the nothingness surrounding

every empty corner and dusty wall. No coffee tables, couches,

clutter scattered on the floor, or cabinets; just shadows stretching

out across pale ceiling tiles, dropping down onto a lonely floor.

 

There is nothing here, behind the window or behind the door.

There are no curtains framing the darkened windows, no locks

or latches to keep them from coming in. There is nothing, except

shadows hiding from the smiling wall, spilling fourth lies to

anyone who stops to listen.

 

There is nothing here, except shadows hiding.

Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

Comments

yarrHHarry

wow....this was just a great, GREAT, mind-boggling, awesome read. AMAZING!!!

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